He must find out what was the matter with the child, or at least show her how her old father's heart bled for her.

He got up quietly from his big easy-chair, from which he had been used to survey his Nelly's face at the other side of the fireplace for many a happy year.

To be sure, it had not been the same since the Dowager had come, and Nelly had gone gadding of evenings.
Still, she had always come in to kiss him before she went off, looking radiant and sweet, with the hood of her evening cloak over her bright head and framing the dearest face in the world.

She had always clung to him with her soft arms about his neck, and he had not minded her absence since she was enjoying herself as she ought at her age.
He climbed up the stairs of the high house.

Nelly had chosen a bedroom right at the top, whence she could look away over the London roofs to the mists that hid the country.
The blinds were up and the cold winter moon lay on the girl's bed.